CHAPTER 1
THE BOOK
"I hope this isn't another wild-goose chase, Butler," whispered Artemis. "Especially after the river troll."
"He said he was certain this time," said the bald man, who was as big as a gorilla, and towered over the boy in the fancy suit.
"Hmm," said Artemis, drumming his fingers on their table. He slicked back his dark gelled hair and tapped a foot on checkered tiles.
They were sitting underneath an umbrella in the outdoor patio of Ed's Bakery and Diner, watching children eat ice cream. A waiter with a curled black moustache strolled to their table. "Can I help you, sirs?" he asked.
Artemis sighed. "The stereotypical waiter moustache is a little much. Spare me the theatrics, and sit down." He motioned to a pink chair matching the others.
"But, sir, I am a waiter."
"Ye are wearin' a silk shirt, three gold rings, and yer french accent sounds english. Ye are not a waiter. What a pathetic disguise."
The man's shoulders sagged. "Alright, it's true." He pulled off the moustache. "I was just making sure you didn't have any weapons." He turned to the muscley bald man, the adult in the situation. "I am the contact whom you were sent to meet."
Artemis rapped the table. "I am unarmed. But Butler here, me . . . ah . . . butler, has two knives in his boots, a dagger up his sleeve, and a pistol in his pocket."
The man addressed Butler, "I must admit I'm confused. I thought I was dealing with Artemis senior, not this boy."
The boy in the suit rapped the table again. "And now to business. Do ye know where tis?"
"Yes, Mister . . . Master Fowl . . ." He glanced at the twelve-year-old. "I know where it is."
"Really? And I'm supposed to take yer word for this am I? Ye could be walkin' me straight into an ambush. Me family has enemies ye know."
"Here, look." The man slid Artemis a picture over the pink table. It showed a green hand reaching from the shadows.
"Hmm," he murmured. "Anythin' can be faked these days. Explain."
"This woman lives in a tent behind Ed's Bakery and Diner. She has pointy ears—is oblivious to technology—she healed my hand when a finger got chopped off."
Artemis nodded.
The man wiped sweat from his forehead. "Information only. That was the agreement. I don't want anymore curses on my head. Not after the monkey tail."
Butler gripped the informant behind the neck. "I'm sorry, but the time when ye had a choice in matters is long past." He steered the protesting man to their car.
They climbed from the sleek limousine into an alley, and a pickpocket attempted to steal Butler's wallet. The manservant broke the man's fingers without looking down. They were given a wide berth after that.
The alley narrowed to a muddy lane. "Well?" demanded Artemis. "Where is she?"
The informant jabbed a finger at a black tent beneath a fire escape. "Under there. She never comes out. Eats rats and scraps from the Diner. Can I go now?"
Artemis picked his way across the puddled lane to the lee of the fire escape. There were furtive movements in the shadows. "Butler, could ye hand me the Seein' Stone?"
Butler plucked a rock with a hole in the middle from his pocket, and placed it in Artemis's hand. Artemis fixed the homemade strap to his face, and went into the squirming shadows. Something squatted in the tent, shifting in the dark. The figure was small and wrapped in a filthy blanket. Her skin was green.
"Madam," he said. "I've a proposition for ye."
"Scraps?" she squeaked "Frostin'? Ice cream? Food first. Then talk."
The bodyguard drew out a donut with the words Ed's Bakery and Diner on the pink wrapper. A claw snatched the donut.
"Pay our informant too, Butler. In full now. Remember," said Artemis, turning to the man. "This is between us, so it is. Ye don't want Butler comin' after ye—burstin' out while ye are sleepin'—do ye?"
"My lips are sealed."
"They'd better be, or Butler will seal them permanently." Artemis handed the man a sheaf of twenty thousand dollars, U. S. currency.
The informant skipped off down the lane, singing, "I'm rich! Rich! La-la-la."
Artemis bent closer to the tent. "Now, madam, ye have somethin' I want."
"Yes, Irish. Sore head. Bad tooth. I heal."
"I am perfectly healthy. What I want from ye is yer book."
"Book?" asked the leprechaun. "I am heal." She had slitted golden eyes, and her ears were pointed.
Artemis sighed. "Ye are not a healer. Ye are a sidhe, a faerie. I want yer book."
"Ye know about book, Irish," she said slowly. "Then ye know magic. I kill."
"I doubt that. Look at ye. Ye are nearly dead. Pathetic. I'm here to save ye in return for the book."
"What could book for, Irish?"
"That's no concern of yers. All ye need to know are yer options."
The leprechaun's ears quivered.
"One, ye refuse to give us the book and we go home, leavin' ye to rot here."
"Yes," said the faerie. "Choose this option."
"But! If we leave without the book, ye will be dead in a day."
The faerie laughed. "I outlive Irish century. Survive the ages."
"Not if the donut was dunked in Holy Water," said Artemis.
The faerie screamed. "Holy water! Murder! Holy Water! Irish kill!"
"It should start to burn any minute now." Artemis showed her his watch.
The faerie poked her stomach. "More options?"
"Listenin' now? Option two. Ye give me the book for thirty minutes. Then I return yer magic to ye with spring water from a faerie well. That will counteract the Holy Water."
"How to trust, Irish? Ye trick."
"Good point. Here's the deal. I give ye the water on faith. Then, after I've had a look at the book, ye get the spring water. Take it or leave it."
"Take." She threw him a golden book the size of a matchbox. "No use for Irish, old tongue."
Butler unwrapped a vial. He put it in the leprechaun's hand. The leprechaun stiffened. "Strong magic," she breathed.
In several minutes Artemis and Butler finished taking pictures of the book. Artemis e-mailed it to Fowl Manor in Dublin, safe on the Fowl server, then returned the volume to its owner.
"Nice doin' business with ye."
